Scent of the beach swept clean, held
ready for arrivals or departures
Scent of the coast that greeted you
with arms of pine and needles of salt
Scent of the street where bread rose
in the early dark before the sun
Scent of the shrine where the Virgin
stood serene, lit by votive candles
Scent of the box of coins and the hands
that carried her from house to house
Scent of lightning in the hills, lingering
like a halo around each brown mushroom cap
Scent of the dead that sleep in the fields
and rise to trace ground tendrils’ wandering